It started with Lotus Root Soup.
This is the kind of thing that happens when you tell your Chinese friends to order for you Chinese-style.
Next was a vat of spicy fish. It was followed by a beef dish that vaguely resembled something you might order in an American Chinese restaurant. What was the name of it? I have no idea. The entire affair was conducted in Mandarin.
Then, eggplant. Oh, eggplant. The secret of the eggplant has been given to the people of China. No matter what I do to it, it never tastes even close to the melting, heavenly delight of Chinese eggplant.
Next egg and tomato, which I have already learned to love.
All of these things are placed in the center of the table and someone ladles a generous spoonful of it into your little bowl of rice, wherein you work at shoveling it into your mouth with chopsticks. Well, I shovel.
The food kept coming. Shredded parsnip or potato – I don’t know but it was good.
Spicy chicken. In looks it resembled American Chinese but in taste it was so much better.
Bok choy! Always a favorite!
And last, dried tofu with bamboo shoots. Tasty but salty.
Chinese style means that you do not have your own “dish.” It is the best idea of the history of eating. Basically, it’s family style. Everybody reaching for another helping of their favorite, with rice on the side, dish by dish, until your stomach has expanded way past reasonable and your discomfort at last overpowers your desire for